


Thorin and Eleanora

by Jollytr



Category: Richard Armitage - Fandom, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canonical Character Death, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Angst, OTP Feels, Romance, Time Period: From settling in Ered Luin to BOFA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-10 17:02:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jollytr/pseuds/Jollytr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not all of the race of Men treated Dwarves poorly as the Dunlendings did.  The Brander family was raised to eschew all forms of racism and bigotry.  As a result of their open hearts and open minds they met people, Dwarven people, who would change their lives forever.  </p><p>Eleanora Brander had enough on her shoulders to take up all of her time, hopes and dreams.  The same could be said for Thorin Oakenshield - perhaps even more so - and in his exile he has faced deprivation and prejudice, hardening him to others.   </p><p>This short story follows them for roughly 30 years prior to BOTFA through to its conclusion. Inspired by a prompt and a comment by Richard Armitage on Thorin in the Blue Mountains between the sacking and retaking of Erebor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dwarves Come to Brander Farm

**Author's Note:**

> This world of Middle Earth belongs to Professor Tolkien - setting, some characters herein, their ultimate fates. It's all his but for the world of Brander farm and it's inhabitants. No disrespect intended to the Professor or his work.

Eleanora huffed a tired breath to blow the whispy hair from her eyes and grunted as she hoisted a heavy crate onto the wagon.  It had been a respectable market day in Bree but she was tired and longed to kick off her boots, soak her swollen feet and enjoy a mug of mead by the fire.   Eleanora sorely wished Ain, Ben, Sig or Oiv would relent and accompany her on market days, she could dearly use their help, but alas, there was no changing a Dwarven mind once it was made up.   And, if truth be told, she understood their reluctance to associate with the folk of Bree – they had been treated none too well by said inhabitants, something they would not soon forget or wish to repeat.

Her full cheeks were flushed and the ever present tendrils were curled in tight ringlets around her face by the time she climbed into the cart and encouraged sweet Nessie to trot on.   She’d sold all of the cheese, most of the wool, had more orders than she could fill for her salted meats and sold several jars of her preserves.  It was enough to buy pantry staples, pipeweed, some old silver bits she was sure Ain could use, and a small barrel of cider.   Dwarves didn’t particularly care for cider but when they were waiting for a batch of ale to age, they’d make do.   Eleanora smiled, it was endearing to think of how her friends ‘made do’ since they came to her four years prior.

Eleanora shivered at the memory of the hopelessness and despair they found her in.  The Brander family were numbed by a grief which clung too long and too tight.  Mam had passed two years before, taking with her music, joy and her considerable farming skills.  Da, Eleanora and Jayne grew apathetic, seeking no joy and taking no pride in what was once a healthy farm.   Da was in a perpetual fog, trudging through what little work he could manage and never returned to the hardworking farmer his Elizabeth had fallen in love with.   It was really no surprise that Da wasn't paying attention as the cart drifted off the road, tipping over and trapping him underneath.  There was a light breeze that day and John Brander vaguely noted the irony of birds singing in the warm sunshine and spring flowers scented the air as he lay dying in a ditch.    John was unconscious when the family of a neighbouring widow found him.   They righted the cart and took him to the healer in Bree but it was too late to save his legs.

John recuperated at the farm, humiliated at the depths he'd sunk to and the burden he was to his daughters.   Jayne helped Eleanora fashion a low trolley for John to sit on which allowed him to roll over ever flat surface available to him.   The girls built a make-shift ramp from the front door of their home down to the yard for Da, pleased to see the determination he had to do as much as he possibly could.   Da's example encouraged them to work with pride and to shake off their mourning.   It did not take long for Eleanora to understand the results their neglect had on the farm.   The work was endless, labourious and exhausting, leaving no time for the domestic chores which would make their lives a little brighter.   There was no baking, no new clothes, no careful mending, no guests, no music and no time or energy to consider such things.

With an amputee father and a young sister to care for and a farm to run, Eleanora struggled to finish just the most basic chores.  She watched helplessly as decay and neglect slid their dirty fingers along the edges of her farm.  The day Oivindur, Benrin and Sigbrandur showed up at her door, bedraggled, starving and begging for work was the greatest blessing she'd known in her life 

“I have no money to pay you but will share what food we have and provide you with warm, dry shelter for as long as you care to work.”

“Thank you Missus.  We are Oivindur, Benrin and Sigbrandur – at your service.”   They all bowed to her and her heart broke a little at their lovely manners unaltered even in such diminished circumstances.   She’d heard folk speak of their disdain towards Dwarves because of their supposed propensity for rude, selfish, untrustworthy behaviour.   It took all of her might not to stuff rocks in the mouths of such racist fools.  No good race of Middle Earth deserved such prejudice and Dwarves were as good as Elves, Hobbits and Humans - better in some regards.   If humans went through half of what the Dwarves had … well, they might be a little crusty around the edges from time to time too.  

Eleanora had never met such hardworking people.  No matter the task there was noone who could equal the stamina and drive of her Dwarven friends.   They worked from sun-up to sun-down with barely a pause for meals.   If they kept to themselves and spoke little to her or her kin, she could not fault them for it.  

Warm winds of change blew through the farm the day Da fell over in the garden, unable to rise.   Sig had heard distant calls for help and rushed to his aid, helping Da back onto his trolly and rolling him back to the house.   Sig carried him over the threshold as if he weighed no more than child and gently sat him on his chair.   He nodded and left, having said nary a word to Da.

Three weeks later Eleanora was perplexed to find a peculiar path laid out from the steps of the house.   She followed smooth stones and found a trail which wound all around the front property.  From the house to the well, the garden, the shed, the barn and the orchard there was a stone path which was as smooth as glass.  It was attractive enough and would undoubtably be handy for Da to use but she couldn’t puzzle out what it's real purpose was for.

The day after the appearance of the stone paths, Eleanora nearly bumped into Sig who was carrying an armload of planks and boards from the shed.   “Sorry Missus.”

“Have no concern for me Sigbrandur.  May I help you with this heavy load?”

He huffed and turned a pink in the face.  “No Missus.   I am able.”   He made to continue on with his mission.

Curious, but not wanting to appear nosey or overbearing, she busied herself with weeding the flower garden so that she could surreptitiously observe the uncommunicative Dwarf progress.  Over the next few hours Sig had replaced the patchwork ramp Eleanora had built and installed a sturdy, smooth ramp which looked far safer and was much, much more pleasing to the eye.    

Sig returned from the shed with a peculiar chair which had wheels and levers attached to it.   He set it in front of her and said, “Sit.”   Eleanora did as bid and marvelled at how comfortable it was. The seat had been carved and smoothed and the angle of the chair was perfect.

“Roll the wheels with your hands.  Stay on the path.  Stop with the lever.”  He instructed her with utilitarian bluntness. 

Eleanora wheeled around the paths and quickly found how easy it was to control the chair, taking corners with ease and stopping quickly.  Not only was the chair comfortable, it was bloody fun.   She briefly wondered if Sig might make another so that they could race.   She looked at him questioningly with a big grin on her face.

“For your Da.”  He shrugged and walked away as if he’d done nothing at all.

That was the beginning of what was to become the dearest, most important friendships of Eleanora’s life.   Slowly Sig, Ben and Oiv stopped clamming up when she was near and started to tentatively include her in their lives by asking tame questions or sharing inconsequential trivia with her.

The night she took a tray of hot cider to them was a lovely one she’d never forget.   With her arms full, she struggled to knock on the door of the outbuilding which they had converted into their house and almost dropped her tray.  She heard beautiful music coming from the other side of the wall and didn’t want to interrupt so with a frustrated huff, she knocked the latch down with her elbow and jostled around the door.   She stood unobserved for a great long time, captivated by the heart wrenching songs of Durin's Folk.  Oiv was the first to notice her and abruptly stopped singing, alerting the others to their audience.

“Sorry to disturb Missus.  If we were too loud –“  Oiv said, embarrassed to have been caught singing the songs of his people, some of which were secret.

Eleanora wasn’t aware of the tears which flowed down her cheeks as she struggled to find her words, “No Oiv, not too loud at all.  That was the loveliest, saddest music I have ever heard.   You have the hearts of poets and I hope someday you will invite me to listen.   Here, I’ve brought warmed cider for you but I think it might be cold now.”  She frowned briefly, hoping they were not disappointed, as she placed the tray on a bench and bowed out of the room.

Jayne, did not understand Eleanora’s deep fascination with the Dwarves living in their old shed.  Certainly they were good workers and never intruded on her life, but Jayne saw no reason to be so enamoured with them.  Jayne was ambivalent towards them, not minding them but not entralled with them either.  It took being at the unpleasant end of teasing and losing a prospective suitor  because of their Dwarven farm hands that Jayne eventually recognized the dirty reality of racism.   Jayne and Eleanora shared a stubborn nature, neither allowed anyone tell them who or what to like or dislike, and when the very people who had, in Elie’s words, saved their lives were disparaged, the Brander women’s ire rose to dangerous levels.   Jayne's attitude towards the three Dwarves changed dramatically, going from wishy washy to a fierce protectiveness.  Her new affection was later displayed upon the arrival of a certain handsome young Dwarf.

Over the next months the Branders and the Dwarves exchanged courtesies and kindnesses, testing the waters of trust and friendship.  With the Dwarves help, they harvested surpluses for the first time in years, allowing Eleanora to sell products at the market and bring a few luxuries back to the farm.   No Dwarf had ever heard of a human offering money where none was committed or expected (even if it was earned) so they were greatly surprised when Eleanora shared a portion of the market profits with them.  They had agreed to work for food and lodging and doubted the Branders would ever change that arrangement – for good or for bad.   While they were sceptical about the wisdom of offering coin when it was not necessary, they saw Eleanora's gratitude and affection for them in how she shared with them.  Their opinion of these particular people improved significantly and they thought themselves fortunate to have found the Bramdes when they did.

The day that Eleanora brought new breeches and tunics to Dwarf House was one they would always cherish.  They’d made neither complaint nor request for anything from the Branders and yet Missus saw that their clothes were thread bare and torn, providing them with little protection from the elements and offending their modest dignity.   Without ceremony she humbly offered them clothes she herself had sewn, trying as she might to copy Dwarven styles and sensibilities.  They had never been on the receiving end of such generous, thoughtful kindness from any race and pledged their loyalty to her for ever more.

From time to time other Dwarves would wander across their path and Eleanora was always as welcoming and generous to them as she was the first day Sig, Ben and Oiv had shown up on her door step.   Sometimes the strangers would stay for a night or two, sometimes for months.  Eleanora simply deferred to Sig, letting him know that it was his good opinion which mattered most in such things.  For her part, she believed that if there was room for his kin then they would always be welcome on the Brander farm.    Sig took his growing authority and responsibility seriously, demanding standards and rules be honoured on the Brander farm by all who enjoyed its hospitality.  Twice Sig had promptly evicted Dwarves when he found them to be unscrupulous or without honour. 

Sig had occassionally wondered about the Missus’ husband, assuming she must be a widow.  He was aware that humans did not have the same noble ways of marriage as the Dwarves but he had never been interested enough to discover the exact differences.  The Dwarves of Brander Farm found Missus to have a dignity and quiet honour which any Dwarf should find admirable.  Sig was certain that she would show such distinction in marriage, never dishonouring her husband whether he be dead or alive.   In their hearts and minds, Eleanora was a good woman and as much as they thought not to, they couldn’t help notice she cut a fine figure.  She was still a bit too thin by Dwarvish standards, but far more pleasing than most humans who tended to be nothing but skin and bones.   Missus was, barring the lack of beard, shaped the way a handsome Dwarrow should be: stout, hearty, strong and with softly undulating curves.

It was during an evening with too much mead, too many sad songs and too much story telling that Sig forgot himself and asked her about the Mister, ready to weep with her at the loss and write songs to immortalize what he assumed would be her husband's fine attributes.

“Oh there is no Mister for I have never married.  When Mam died I was too unhappy and when Da lost his legs I had too much to do on the farm and in raising Jayne.  And you know what things were like when you first came, we were struggling to stay alive.  I have had a few suitors but they … well they were found wanting.  Namely they wanted my land and not my heart.”  She explained with a large dose of embarrassment and a larger gulp of mead.

“But do not Women choose the Man?”  For Dwarves, females made the choice of mate if or when they wanted one at all.   Dwarven pairings were forever, not even death of her husband could entice a Dwarrow to remarry.  Dwarven love was for always.

"No my friends.  Here it is the man who chooses the woman and I have found none who could tempt me.  Men are fickle with some thinking they are superior to women; Elves are snobby, tall and far too skinny; and Hobbits are too suspicious of anything new.    I sometimes wonder if I shouldn’t have been born a Dwarrow for it seems I am most predisposed to admiring Dwarves.”  She teased them, enjoying the vivid blush which flooded their cheeks.

“And a fine Dwarrow you’d be too.”  Ain, the new addition to their family, mumbled. “Even without a beard.” 

Eleanora pretended not to hear, knowing any acknowledgement of Ain’s statement would be mortifying to him and a source of endless teasing from his friends.  Instead she began to sing a happy song about catching a fish as big as her arm and made her friends laugh.  

Da and Eleanora gave full credit to their Dwarven family for the abundance they enjoyed.   They not only worked hard, taking pride in every task they set to, but they also invented and fashioned  implements which made the farm flourish.   They reworked the sheep shears, allowing quicker, safer shearing of their flock.  Watching Da struggle with the spinning wheel, they improved its design so that he was soon spinning finer wool at double the speed of the fastest spinner.   They invented a tiller and scythe which allowed them to plant more and harvest quicker, impressing Da with their ingenuity and skill.   It was Sig who understood Eleanora’s distaste for the butchering of animals, she took no pleasure in causing painful deaths to defenseless creatures.    Sig created sharp blades so thin the animals barely felt their penetration and when applied to their main veins, death was quick and as painless as they could make it to be. 

All of the Dwarves became accustomed to Eleanora’s propensity for physical displays of gratitude and affection.  Initially it was mortifying to be on the receiving end of one of her embraces and Oiv thought he would surely expire if she touched his beard after pinching his cheek one more time.   Ben tried to subtly explain the importance of beards and such, but his embarrassment caused him to stammer and prevaricate to such an extent Eleanora couldn’t properly hear him.    While they never got to the point of hugging back, eventually they stopped turning into frozen, chagrinned statues and on very special occasions, sometimes patted her arm affectionately.

Jayne’s ambivalence towards the Dwarves had gradually worn off and they found her to be a nice girl, even if she was abominably skinny like so many of the poor human females.   Jayne loved to watch them work with metals and stone, often sitting close by for hours as the infamous Dwarven skill with earth’s raw materials wrought incredible shapes and patterns before her eyes.   They made the most delicate, intricate designs on all of their creations revealing a beauty in the object that no other could conceive or achieve.   Jayne had developed a crush on handsome young Ain when he first arrived and it was only after many a teary night spent in Eleanora’s comforting hugs that she accepted Ain would never see her as a potential girlfriend or wife. 

Ain was a Dwarf who experienced his calling to work with precious metals very young, to the exclusion of any other life choices.   Jayne did not, could not, understand that someone as sweet, handsome and talented as Ain would never consider marrying.   It was a peculiarity of Dwarves – their singularity of purpose.   When Miss Jayne began her courtship with Joseph Winterbottom all of the Dwarves were thrilled for her and the lad from Bree.   Ain thought Jayne was a nice girl, as far as females went, and made a beautiful necklace for her wedding, using most of his savings to buy the silver and gems needed.

~^~

It was only half an hour from Bree’s market to the Brander farm but given Eleanora’s exhaustion, it was more than long enough for her to fall asleep at the reins.  The rhythmic bumping and jostling of wheels over dirt road lulled her into a deep, dreamless sleep.  Fortunately Nessie well knew the way home and plodded along without need of human direction.  It was the lack of movement and the quiet laughter of amused Dwarves which woke her to find herself happily stopped in front of the barn and four teasing Dwarves unloading the cart.

“We have a guest tonight Missus.  He’s tired and dirty from a long time on the road but will thank you for your hospitality tomorrow.”   Sig mentioned casually – perhaps a little too casually.   If she wasn’t so knackered she’d wiggle whatever secret he was hiding out of him.

“Of course Siggy.  You know that any friend of yours is a friend of ours.  Make him welcome, Lads.   Ensure he has plenty of food, a comfortable bed and a chance to wash up when he wishes.   I look forward to meeting him tomorrow.”   She yawned and gave Ben a tired smile of gratitude as she watched him unload the heavy crates from the cart.   She didn’t notice the Dwarf standing in the doorway of the shed, arms crossed and head tilted in an unreadable expression.   She bade them goodnight and took herself to an early bed.

“That was your Mistress I take it.”  The stranger stated.

“Not a mistress I think.  She is a good friend to us, Thorin Oakenshield, and she will be to you too.”

Thorin shook his head, raven hair majestically swishing over his shoulder and braid beads quietly tinkling.  “That I do not expect, Sigbrandur.   I have only a small tolerance for the race of Men and find little more than that to recommend their female folk.”    When had he become so bitter against humans?   There was a time in Erebor that he counted many in the city of Dale to be dear to him.   Years wandering in exile at the mercy of suspicious, uncaring and unscrupulous people had jaded him, irrevocably tarnishing his good opinion.

He could not help but admit that these Dwarves were living much better than most he encountered during his travels.   On his way from the new Dwarven settlement in the Blue Mountains to track his father’s disappearance, Thorin had seen the devastation, poverty, humiliation and slow wasting death of too many Dwarves.  He offered some hope in Ered Luin but still too many of his people languished in the wilds, unable to make the journey to safety.

Sig, Ben, Oiv and Ain welcomed him with hearty food, strong ale, a warm bath and a soft bed, and too many tales of the kindness of the Branders.   From what he could tell, it was Dwarven skill which allowed the Brander farm to function well and if praises should be sung, it should be by the humans for the very Dwarves he was honoured to enjoy the company of.

The following morning Sigbrandur showed Thorin the workings of the farm, proudly displaying the enhancements they had made.   Thorin was impressed with the diversification of the place and grudgingly admired that each member had a unique place in their small community.   He saw the woman working in the garden while a legless man carrying a basket rolled along on his chair with wheels.  His prideful smile at the ingenuity of Dwarves stopped on his lips as the woman stood up, unwittingly drawing his eyes to her. 

With the back of her gloved hand, Eleanora swiped at the tendrils and whisps tickling her cheeks and brow.  She looked up at the deep blue cloudless sky and smiled as she stretched out the kinks in her back.    She noticed the stranger standing by the well and waved hello to him, gathering up her basket and walking over, she would be pleased to meet the friend of her friends.

As she approached him, she gasped mid breath.   He was spectacular!   Raven black hair combed into silken waves, perfect braids completed with subtle silver beads and clasps, eyes the colour of the sky she’d just admired, a regal nose, strong jaw, immaculate beard, and shoulders … mighty shoulders, broad and strong.  He was undeniably imposing, majestically commanding.  

“Thorin Oakenshield, at your service.”  He said haughtily as he executed a shallow, perfunctory bow.

Having difficulty finding her voice, she choked out, “Eleanora Brander, at your service.” She made a wobbley curtsey.

His eyebrows shot up at that.  He was insulted that she would mock the traditional Dwarven greeting but as he surveyed her expression, he could find no contempt or mockery there.  Instead he saw her bow her head and humbly avert her eyes.   Thorin snorted in unbelieving disdain assuming that Sigbrandur must have taught her well.   No matter, humans were a fickle race and he would remain on his guard until he discovered her real intentions towards the Dwarves.

“We will share a mid-morning meal on the porch soon.  I hope you can join us Mr. Oakenshield.”  She gave him an awkward smile.

It was all he could do to keep from rolling his eyes at her uncomfortable kindness.  “Just Thorin, if you please.  I will accompany Sigbrandur and will join you if he does.”  He bowed curtly and turning on his heel he strode off in the direction of the barn.  Oh how he abhored condescension, he would prefer to eat Elven salads rather than break bread with the likes of her snooty self.

“Good thing he’s so handsome!  He has the personality of a _cranky old goat_.”  She thought to herself, shrugging and walking back inside the house to prepare the food.

An hour later, Da struck the chimes on the porch to let everyone know early lunch was served.   Eleanora wiped her hands on her apron and surveyed the meal.   She had made a conscious effort to ensure this lunch was a fine one with many different dishes, most of which she knew to be pleasing to Dwarves.   The uppity Thorin Oakenshield would find no cause to look down his proud nose at her hospitality, no indeed.

The full table earned her several whistles and appreciative nods, eliciting a smug smile and a silent dare for _Mr. High and Mighty_ to find fault.  Out of the corner of her eye she saw him look bored which surprised and angered her.  How dare he?!?   _Insufferable ogre_.   She had never been treated so poorly in her own house by anyone and decided she would not stay for more of the same.

She pulled the package of old silver pieces from her pocket and quietly gave it to Ain before excusing herself on the promise of a visit to their neighbours.   All of the Dwarves, except Thorin, stood as she left the room, which did not escape her notice.   _He was far too big for his own britches!_

After the table was cleared and the Dwarves completed the cleanup, they returned to their tasks.   Ain worked on jewellery; Benrin was developing a drainage system for the back field which was prone to flooding and endangering young livestock; Sigbrandur was inventorying their stores; and Oivindur was tending to the animals.   It made Thorin ill to see them because, other than Ain, they were engaged in tasks not fitting for Dwarves.    These were not warriors and craftsmenl; these were … farmers!

Sig was not unaware of Thorin’s caustic opinions.  He’d encountered similar versions from many of the Dwarves who passed through and he had disavowed their beliefs post haste.   It was not so simple to provide a dressing down to a member of the Royal Family and Prince Thorin Oakshield, Heir of Durin was as royal as it got.  Many owed their lives and security to the efforts of the noble Oakenshield but Sig was not impressed by snobbery or denigration in any form, even from his own Crown Prince.

“It may not be a traditional Dwarven life, but we have found great riches and happiness here.   I had hoped that you would be proud of what we have built.  Not every Dwarf can live in Erid Luin or the Iron Hills.  We are spread far and wide and hope to do more than meek out only enough to survive until we go to the Halls of Waiting.”   Sig did not challenge Thorin by making eye contact, he let his gentle rebuke hang in the air for Thorin to do with as he might.

Thorin’s Grandfather had taught him the importance of diplomacy, even if he often found himself in short supply of it.   Reluctantly he said, “You have indeed fared well here Sigbrandur, son of Vilandur.  You have a safe house, good food, you keep the old tongue and the old songs and you work in the forge.”

“I believe we have found more than that, my Prince.   We have found respect, friendship, loyalty, honour, and the resources to create with our hands.  Before Missus welcomed us we were starving, ill, and broken. Now we are strong, healthy, and have all that we need.  It is much more than we thought life in Middle Earth would ever offer us.”

“But you serve the will of inconstant humans.   Look at this very afternoon  - you toil on her farm while she is off socializing.   What respect or honour is there in that?”  Thorin demanded.

“Socializing?  I think not.   Missus  makes her rounds to the widows and elderly bringing them food, doing chores and offering her friendship.   Missus will return tonight worn out and probably with blisters and bruises for her efforts.  I respectfully suggest that you do not know Missus.  She is not like those who have ignored or taken advantage of our people in their time of need.   She has honour that every Dwarf would do well to respect, in fact she has more than most Dwarves who have passed through these gates.”  Sig said quietly.

“Yes.  Well.  That may be, but rest assured she will prove to be as promiscuous as the rest of her race.  How long before she remarries and her new husband treats you like the lazy, money grubbers they think us to be?”  Thorin spat out.

Sig’s temper erupted.  “That’s enough.   Durin or no Durin – you will NOT speak of Missus like that.   She has not an easy virtue, she has never married and probably never will.   She courts no Man, Elf or Hobbit.  She graciously accepts the care of a crippled father as well as the widows and elderly.   She works each hour of the daylight and never complains, but she insists that we do not work for too long for she makes us break our toil though she will not do so herself.   She pays us a share of the profits from this farm and has spoken to the magistrate to ensure that it will be ours when her time on Middle Earth is over.  You would be hard pressed to find a person I could admire more!” Sig’s face was redder than the wine in the cask Thorin leaned on.

Suitably chastised Thorin bowed his head in repentence and deference, “I have wronged you with my prejudices and I am sorry.   You have been treated well and have forged an enviable life here.   Please forgive me, Sigbrandur.”

“Of course Thorin Oakenshield.  Now, if I may be so bold, will you help me finish this inventory so we can begin collecting supplies for our dinner?”   Sig breathed a sigh of relief that Thorin Oakenshield had not exercised his royal prerogative to have him flogged for his insolence to the Heir of Durin.


	2. Truce

Eleanora returned home well after dark, her ample body collapsing in her favourite chair.   She would just as well sleep there for the night, having not the energy to take one more step.   She had dozed off before hearing a body close by, clearing his throat.  She opened one eye to see Thorin Oakenshield standing beside her with a tray in his hands.

“Sigbrandur said you would be in need of food.   He bade me bring this to you and determine if we may be of service.”  He sounded decidedly uncomfortable and his words were clearly rehearsed.  “You smell ... foul.”

“Such flowery compliments.  Thank you for bringing dinner it was very thoughtful of you – or probably of Siggy if I don’t miss my guess.”   She held out her hands to take the tray from him.

Thorin huffed in frustration.  “I am sorry to give offence – it was not my intention.   You smell strange and while it is not pleasant, I should not have insulted you by calling attention to it.   Are you covered in an unguent or a potion which could harm you?”

“Mrs. Willoughby’s kitchen needed to be scoured as it had become overrun by mice and their excrement was everywhere.   It was not a pleasant task but it is done and her kitchen is once again clean.  We will bring fresh food to her tomorrow, I do not believe I could make the return trip tonight.”   She dipped a piece of rustic bread into the thick, rich soup and sighed with appreciation when she took a bite of it.

Perhaps he should not have been surprised by her words, after all Sigbrandur had told him of her kindness to others.  But he was pleasantly surprised – she worked hard on behalf of those who were not her kin.   He begrudgingly admitted that she had some measure of honour and it behooved him to offer her his respect.   Seeking a diversion and time to think of the polite things strangers normally conversed about, he rebuilt the fire which had gone out in the hearth, also ruminating on all he’d been told and all he’d witnessed.  He turned to find her staring at him and was disquieted by it, prompting him to automatically provide her with an impressive scowl.

Eleanora shrugged, “You don't always have to look so angry. I saw you smile once and it suited you better, I think.”

His eyebrows shot up and his scowl deepened.   This woman spoke to him as if he was a common grunt and he was about to show her the consequences of insulting a member of the Royal Family when he realized she likely did not know who he was and even if she did, she had no obligations to his title.   With a slight shake of his head he determined to make peace with her.  “I have been told that I have a scowl which can curdle ale.”  Emotion flickered across his face as he remembered his Mother laughingly tell him such things, not long before Smaug destroyed Erebor.

Eleanora was warmed by his sudden attempt to bury the hatchet.   She had seen the unhappy emotion briefly cloud his eyes and thought the least she could do was to let him know the ceasation of hositilities was welcome.   “My Mother shared similar observations but it was usually regarding wilfulness in my case.”  She winked at him.

“Ah the wisdom of Mothers.”  He smiled and nodded, glad to have entered a truce with his hostess.   When not suspecting her of racist animosity or of subjugating his people, he could freely admit she was a pleasant enough woman, as far as women went.   At least she was no Dunlending.

With a half smile and a deep bow he said, “I bid you good night Mrs. Brander.   Until tomorrow.” 

“It’s Miss, not Missus no matter what Siggy says.   But please, call me Eleanora,  Mr. Oaken – Thorin.”

“Very well.  Good night Eleanora.”  He said, not unkindly, and left for the Dwarve's house.

The next day Thorin paid closer attention to Eleanora in an attempt to understand how she inspired such devotion from his people and how she encouraged easier relations with him.   He found much to respect: she was hard working, strong and generous.   He admired that she dressed modestly unlike so many human females who wore bare arms and ankles.    Eleanora donned a proper tunic and trousers to work on the farm, labouring as hard as any Dwarrow or Dwarf.  He grudgingly admitted that he had been mistaken in his first opinion of her.  She was worthy of Sigbrandur’s respect and he was glad of it.

While it was not the most noble of things for a Dwarf to do, he could not deny that he noticed other, more intimate qualities of her person.   She was most pleasing for a human: stout and sturdy as a female should be with an appreciable roundness to her shape.  She had thick, lustrous hair which was desperately in need of braiding but was otherwise acceptable.     He had thought that the tendrils and whisps which perpetually framed her face were a frivilous styling but he was mistaken because they suited her well.  Thorin caught himself smiling as she perpetually swiped them away from her plump, rosy cheeks and as he saw more of her, he had to admit that those soft hairs added an ethereal quality to her features,  not quite as handsome as a Dwarrow’s beard but nice in its own way.

He found himself joining in song when they all worked together to repair the paddock’s fence.   The other Dwarves laughed as they sang, adding nonsensical verses and making Eleanora guffaw with their extravagant praises of her.   Thorin had never been one to tolerate insipid, chitter-chattery, false modesty and was relieved that Eleanora did not possess any of those annoying qualities.   He had enjoyed their hard work even if it was out of doors on a farm and not under a mountain.  Honest sweat and good company left him pleasantly tired at the end of the day.

Ben, Ain, Sig an Oiv were pleased Thorin was becoming tolerant, accepting that their life was as good as they described it to be.  He had not disclosed how long he would stay with them, but if it was for any significant length of time, it would be happier for everyone if he relaxed into the ways of Brander Farm.

After supper and a quiet hour of pipe smoking by the fire, Sig asked Thorin to take the stores' ledger up to Eleanora.  Thorin nodded and tipped his head respectfully, no longer unhappy to cross paths with a Brander.   He was admiring the stonework of the pathway when Eleanora came out of the house, humming to herself.

“Thorin, good evening.  May I be of service?”  She asked, amused at his mildly confused expression. 

“No.  No thank you Miss Eleanora.   Sigbrandur asked me to deliver this ledger to you.” He offered her the book and gave her a small smile and a bow.

“Why thank you.  I am doing rounds tonight, would you care to walk with me?”  She asked, pleased with the improved amity between them.  As they checked on every stall, gate and door they occasionally spoke, enjoying a companionable silence.   At the end of their task they bade each other goodnight and retired, finding their new friendly goodwill to be mutually agreeable

The next three weeks passed similarly with Sig finding a reason for Thorin to go to the main house in time for evening rounds, and Thorin accompanying Eleanora as she ensured the farm was well tended for the night.   They were not verbose but their conversation was no longer sparse either.   They talked about animals, stars, Dwarven talent with stone, metal and gems, human settlements, Dwarven settlements … and many things in between.   

One calm evening, as they completed their walk, Thorin turned to her and impetuously asked, “We are to have a bit of song tonight.  Would you and your Da care to join us?”   He was pleased when she nodded and was happy to witness one of the brightest smiles he’d ever seen.   Thorin helped Mr. Brander over to Dwarven House, not that he needed much help because of Sig's handiwork, and took his place among the musicians.  

Sig had found a small harp and presented it to Thorin who appreciated the gesture and was pleased to make music again.  It was many years since he'd play the golden harp at for his Grandmother in Erebor - years without the time, energy or inclination to make music.  After a few minutes of tuning and sampling its play, Thorin began an old song which all of the Dwarves knew: a sad tale of the lonely wanderings of the Dwarves before Durin the Deathless had called them to build a magnificent kingdom in Khazad-dum.  When Thorin looked up at Eleanora he was startled to see tears silently falling from her eyes.  The transparency of her emotions addled him, she cared deeply about the history of his people and her heartbreak for their suffering affected her greatly.  Thorin saw that her care was for all of his people, not just the Dwarves of Brander Farm and waves of her empathy washed over him.  He stared at her for some seconds, feeling as though time and earth had fallen away, leaving nothing but himself and Eleanora.  His heart beat fast and erratically, sweat ran down his back and his mouth became drier than the desert.   He excused himself and walked, on shaky legs, to the kitchen under the pretense of requiring a drink of water.

Oivindur had seen the peculiar changes in Thorin as their song finished.  He thought perhaps Thorin had eaten a piece of bad cheese and rose to fetch stomach herbs for him.   Benrin smiled and shook his head, nodding to Oiv’s chair and for him to return to it.   Ain and Sig exchanged knowing looks with Ben, smiling at Oiv’s innocence.   The four lads had been through great strife together and would never forget the kindness and dignity with which Eleanora had welcomed them.  When she had next to nothing, she offered to share what she did have with them which was something they had not encountered anywhere else in Middle Earth.    When they first arrived she was tired and nearly beaten with barely a spark left alive.  Even with all of her sorrows and burdens she found small ways to show kindness to others - something for which Thorin was often often remiss.  As the Branders and their farm healed under their efforts, a spark of mischief and an eye for finding joy in every circumstance blossomed in Eleanora.  Sig glimpsed who she had been, who she was meant to be, before tragedy and heartache struck her family.  The three elder Dwarves of Brander Farm were unanimous in their estimation and hope that Thorin could and should learn these good ways from Eleanora.   They also were unanimous that Eleanora enjoyed the lively banter of a being as stubborn as she was and who shared her keen commitment to duty.  To this end they sought every available opportunity to put Thorin in Eleanora's path and were pleased with their progress to date.   It never occurred to them that dreadful consequences could arise from their good intentions.

The next week was difficult for Thorin as he experienced disquieting vertigo every time he was near Eleanora and worse in most of his dreams.  To add insult to injury, his Dwarven companions seemed to be unnecessarily chipper, providing no empathy for his discomfort.   To make matters worse, they seemed to find endless reasons to throw him together with Eleanora which, most unpleasantly, was when his nausea was at its worst.   Thorin stopped going on their nightly walks because he broke out in cold, clammy sweats and he was concerned that if it was possible, he may pass his illness on to her and so he considered it his duty to protect her from it.

One a moonlit night he waited until she had completed her evening rounds before making his way to the bench beside the pond.  He sat quietly, ordering his thoughts and constructing plans to continue his journey onward.  It was time to leave Brander Farm and he had put it off for too many days already.  He freely admitted that it had been pleasant to spend time in a place of safety, abundance and in good company.   Too often his responsibilities pulled him into fragments and it was rare for him to feel at peace.   He left his burdens behind when he walked through Brander’s gates and he would surely miss their simple life, the Dwarves and the Branders, but he hoped he could come again and perhaps they would visit him in Ered Luin.

When he returned to the house, Sig insisted that he take an empty tray up to Eleanora.   He said it was her favourite and it was an oversight to have not returned it sooner.  Thorin tried every tactic he could think of to avoid going to the main house but Sig would have none of it.  On that farm, Sig was king and Thorin humoured him by respecting his authority as much as possible.   Feeling excessively put upon, he acquiesced and walked to the house, finding Eleanora sitting on the porch swing.

 “Sig said you needed your tray.  Here you go.”   He awkwardly set it down on the step and turned to walk away.

 “You will eventually tell me won’t you?”  She asked quietly.

 Confused, he turned to her, “Tell you what?”

 ”What I’ve done to offend you.   I’ve gone over it many times and I can’t figure it out but I know it must be bad because you wouldn’t go to such lengths to avoid me otherwise.”

“Oh Mahal strike me down!   Eleanora, you have done nothing wrong.  I … I am not well and I do not want you to catch my sickness.  Eleanora, you are only good.”  He ran his hand though his hair, frustrated and cursing himself.   He looked at her, unhappy to comprehend the effect his well intended sequestration had on her.  Her tears glistened in the moonlight and he could see her bosom heaving with quiet sobs.

He sat beside her and took her hand in his, unconcerned that he had done such an unusual thing.   He wanted only to assure her she had done nothing wrong – he would do everything he could to relieve her mind of it.     She stared at him with wide eyes, deeply confused by the tenderness which had followed such cold shunning.

He reached over to wipe her tears away, gently brushing her cheek and speaking softly in a language she didn’t understand.   She was surprised by the delicate lightness of his touch when he caressed her face and when he smoothed her hair from her eyes.   She’d sometimes wondered how it was that Dwarves were thick, clunky looking beings and yet they wrought the finest,  most intricate treasures.   Odd that she’d think about craftsmanship while there was something far more perplexing happening right in front of her.  Dwarves did not touch faces or hair or hold another’s hand in theirs.  

 “You have such beautiful hair.  I’ve been thinking to braid it,  perhaps I may do that for you?”  He said in a far away voice, sounding like he was speaking to himself.

She looked into his eyes as he twisted a tendril around his finger and she knew.   It was a sudden revelation which was a long time coming.   In all of her years she had never met anyone who touched her heart and lifted her soul as Thorin did.  It wasn’t her imagination or wishful thinking, she loved him and she surmised he loved her.   She lifted her hand and stroked his beautiful hair – how long had she wanted to do that?  Since the first moment she laid eyes on him she suspected.

Anticipation, dread, excitement, fear, happiness, desolation combined and mixed into a muddling cocktail of anxiety in Thorin.   But he knew - he knew and he felt the ground fall out from under him.   This was not as it was supposed to be.  He had heirs – there was no reason for him to take a mate.  No reason at all.   He was certainly not meant to find his One Love in a human woman, in fact he was born to be the leader of his people and he'd long believed there was no room for him to find One Love in anyone.   Mahal was playing a cold, cruel joke on him.    He was angry to be drawn into a world he had no business in, with a woman not of his race.  He was not meant for marriage and _no_ Dwarf was meant for marriage to a human.  But that was not what his heart and his body was telling him.   How could she look at him that way?  Every part of his being was deafening him with shouts that he belonged to her and she to him.  

He looked at her with confusion and frustration painted in broad strokes across his face.  She nodded in understanding, not sharing his abhorrence at the thought of them as a _them_ , but appreciating what his barriers to love must be.  While she had every reason to be proud of loving him, she doubted he could ever share such easy happiness.   His life was not his own, his responsibilities would undoubtedly forbid him to ever act on the tender feelings growing between them.

 With a strangled cry, he drew back from her and fled down the steps, running until his legs would carry him no further.  He fells to his knees, shouting his rage and frustration to the cold, empty moon.   He howled until he was hoarse, the devastation of his revelation leaving him furiously shaken and weak.   Sleep mercifully claimed him, drawing him into deep, dreamless oblivion.   When he awoke the sun was beating down on him and he groaned from a head pain strong enough to be Mahal’s hammer striking his pate.   The sun hurt his eyes, the air burned his lungs and his tongue felt as if it had swollen to thrice its normal size.    He wanted to travel the road to wherever it would lead him, as long as it was away from Brander Farm, and never return.   He wanted to disappear into the wilds and leave females and Kingship to his heirs.  He hadn't wanted much for himself in over a hundred years but with time spent on that farm, he wanted so much.  He dare not dwell on all of the things he wanted on Brander Farm.  It was clear he was not one to receive the granting of wishes.  His was a far different, far more prescribed life - one which was not his own.

 Had he his axes and pack with him, or even some small amount of coin, he would not have returned to the farm.  However his desire to not be caught unarmed by bandits, Goblins or Orcs overrode his impulse to flee.    He trudged back to Brander’s and waited in the wood until all lights were extinguished for the night.   He crept into Dwarven House and quietly claimed his belongings.   He regretted leaving his friends like a thief in the night but he could not risk discovery or having to explain himself – his was a shame which should not be named.

 As he quietly walked through the yard towards the gate he froze.   She was sitting on the bench by the well and she had quietly called to him.   “Goodbye Thorin.  I am sorry.”   Her voice was ragged from the tears that had fallen, choked by the ones yet to come.

He lacked honour and was ashamed for behaving with such cowardly selfishness.   He could face down Azog and an army of 10,000 but had not the courage to say goodbye to a woman who had been nothing but generous to him.  He was in her debt for her devotion to his people, for her patience with him and yet he skulked off like an uncouth barbarian.   Sucking in a deep breath and squaring his shoulders, he turned to face her to say goodbye like a proper Dwarf.  He stood before her, words failing him.

“I’m sorry Thorin.  I am probably against every Dwarven law there is.  This must be deplorable for you but I won't make it worse.  Be well and know you will always have friends at Brander Farm.”   She wanted to crawl into a hole and hide for a thousand years, she couldn’t bear to see rejection in his eyes.

Thorin groaned and kneeled before her, as still as stone before he stuttered and pulled her face close and crushed his lips to hers.  Her arms flew around him, holding him close and feeling the barely contained power of his strong body under her hands.   Her breath hitched as he pulled away, resting his forehead against hers.

“I love you as I have loved no other, Eleanora Brander.   But I am the deplorable one for I have nothing to offer you – no future, no hope, no kingdom, no marriage … nothing.   But Mahal help me, I love you. I do not wish to ruin your life so send me away – send me away quickly before I destroy us both.”   He pleaded with her.

Her hands slipped down to cradle his face.  “I love you Thorin Oakenshield and you are not deplorable.  You offer all that I want - your love, it is that simple and it is that complicated.  I do not need anything else.   I have never loved before, nor will I ever love another, it is you and only you, for now and for always.”

“Do you understand always?  Do you know what it means?   When I leave, and I must, you will be alone for a great long time before I can return … if I can return … do you know how long always is?”   He searched her eyes for her answer, angry at the thought of her giving up companionship, affection for a brief time together with him.  He did not want her to love in haste and repent at leisure.  He could not brook the idea of their bond being broken when she understood he would always be tied to a life apart from her.  It was the human way to replace a lost love, but it was not the Dwarven way.

“Always means forever.   Not for easy, not for convenient … simply forever.  That’s what always is.”   She hesitated and touched her lips to his, begging him to believe her with the kisses she gave him.

 “Always means forever.”  He clutched her to him with all of his strength, wanting to never let go.  She tilted her head back to look at him and smiled, seeing all of her feelings reflected back at her.

 “Come with me.”   She stood and held his hand, drawing him along with her.   They walked in silence to the glen beyond the wood.   When they came to the soft grasses, she held his gaze and untied the laces of her cape with one hand, letting it fall by her feet. 


	3. In the Glen Beyond the Wood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their first time together ... tentative, awkward, exciting!

A/N: nsfw & some head canon as a footnote

..ooOOoo..

Thorin removed his cloak and smoothed in on the ground, pulling hers over it to create a bed in the long grass. He stood up in front of her, taken by the beauty and love he found within her. He reached out to touch her flowing tresses, enchanted by the silky softness. Thorin watched mesmerized as her hair cascaded through his fingers, warm honey brown flowing over his thick muscular hands.

Eleanora's hands went to his tunic, unfastening the ties and pulling it off of him with a heady mix of uncertainty and excitement. Thorin reluctantly tore his attention away from her hair, promising himself to give her proper braids later. He helped her off with her overdress, somewhat annoyed by the confusing architecture of women’s clothes. Why could they not be as straightforward as those of males?

They took turns removing pieces of clothing from one another, excited and occasionally embarrassed when they fumbled or pulled in the wrong direction. There was no censure or impatience with missteps, only amusement and encouragement. 

When their last bits of cloth had been discarded they stared at each other in wonder. Eleanora's soft body was luminous in the moonlight and her thick frame beautiful to him. She had the most exquisite tatoos of pale silver and pink on her alabaster skin and his fingers tingled in anticipation of touching them. He longed to caress her zaftig curves and wanted to feel her heavy breasts in his hands.

"Elea you are beautiful ... and brave." He traced the silvery tatoos on her breast, pleasantly surprised to be able to feel the soft lines. The marks he'd had etched on his body could not be felt which made hers all the more fascinating to him. Her skin flushed with his words and his touch, warmed by the way he looked at her with sensual adoration.

"Brave? How do you think brave?" She grinned, wondering if he'd heard her scream like a banshee when she saw a rat snake consuming a squirrel not two days prior. She did not consider herself brave in the least.

"Your marks. I winced when my few were drawn on me. You have dozens in soft places - and yours must be deeper than mine because I can feel them. You are very brave to have endured much pain for your special marks. The ink must be magic, I have never seen the like. They are beautiful Eleanora."

"But I've never had a tatoo Thorin. I don't understand what you mean." She looked down to where he was lightly tracing patterns on her skin and smiled, giving him a quick, clumsy hug. "Oh, those are not tatoos. They are my growing marks. As I got older and bigger they started to appear and now I have many. Do you ... do you like them?" She asked, incredulously.

He looked up from her breasts and frowned. "Are they not beautiful to you? If you did not have them, would you not be but a child yet? You are no child, Eleanora, you are an adult! These marks are precious tatoos which honour your voluptuous womanhood and they incite me!" He was emphatic about their appeal. 

His body was answering the beckoning call of her voluptuous body and loving heart. What had begun as a mildly uncomfortable stiffness had grown into a discomfort of yearning which could only be alleviated by making love with the stunning woman before him. He dipped his head to lightly kiss the side of her bosom where he had been tracing the silvery marks and smirked at her sudden hiss. They grinned at each other, curious and eager to continue their explorations.

Her eyes travelled from his head to toes, taking in every detail of his stocky frame. He was carved from marble by a master craftsman for maximum potency. Thick dark hair danced across his body, adding a softness to an otherwise hard surface. She tentatively ran her fingers over his chest, thrilling at the feel of hard muscle beneath silky hair and experienced an electric charge at the sharp gasp he made when she brushed over his rosey nipples. She looked up into his eyes, silently asking for confirmation that what she had done was acceptable and she thought it peculiar that pleasure could sound so similar to pain. If it always did, she hoped she could tell the difference.

“Thorin I knew you to be strong but I had no idea you would be beautiful too!” She grasped his hand in hers, bringing it to her lips and kissing each of his knuckles before continuing her discovery of him.

She breathed hard and blinked fast when she looked between his legs. She had a rudimentary understanding of where to put what, but how was THAT supposed to find its way inside her? She guessed it to be nearly as thick as her wrist and almost as long as her forearm and the very sight of it was more than a little daunting. In the privacy of her bedchamber she had touched herself and well knew that she was snug around her own small finger, leaving her with no confidence that he could fit that part of himself inside of her. She looked at his fingers and thought they alone would be a challenge … but his manhood? She felt a frisson of fear rising up inside of her.

He saw where she was looking and was smug at her display of awe. But when her awe was replaced by fear, his nervousness about making love returned, stronger than ever. What if he hurt her? What if her body would not accept his? Could humans and dwarves complete this act they were intending? 

Anxiety would have overtaken him had she not caressed him again, her warm hand lightly sliding from his shoulder down to his wrist. She was so lovely, soft and round and so lush that he barely noticed she had only wee infant hairs over most of her body. There were a few places where she had proper curly hair and those places made his heart race. 

Just looking at her overspilling softness he felt himself further harden and twitch as if his cock was reaching for her all on its own. If she was afraid of how big he was, what was to follow might well terrify her. From the few times he had privately touched himself he knew that he would only grow bigger before he got smaller. The smile on her lips and the heat in her eyes allayed his concerns.

Thorin rested his hand on Eleanora’s shoulder and asked, “May I?” His eyes sparkled with anticipation and desire. She nodded and smiled at him, amused by his delightfully formal manners.

He traced the contours of her shoulder and arms with his sensitive fingers. Her skin felt smoother than satin covering a rich, plump heaven and she smelled like sweet clover. Her dusky peaks hardened under his gaze, waiting for Thorin to warm them with his touch and his kiss. He thought he might like to go on caressing her forever but other parts of his body were demanding their chance to touch her too and he grinned as he twitched again down there.

They explored each other’s bodies, touching and tracing from one magical spot to the next, sometimes taking turns, sometimes touching at the same time. They had covered every square inch off their upper bodies and were nervously excited at the thought of what would follow once they ventured south.

It was Eleanora who journeyed lower first. The swirls and patterns of the soft hairs on his body formed a line from his belly button downwards. She nearly giggled like a silly young girl thinking that it was like a map drawn to lead her to his treasure. Her fingers danced over his belly, just barely avoiding the denser hair curling around his stiff member. She really wanted to touch it but had no idea if that was permitted, and if it was - how to do it? Could she hurt him? Men seemed to be protective of their 'family jewels' and displayed tremendous agony when injured down there.

“May I touch you there?” She asked hesitantly.

“Yes Elea. Yes, please.” He smiled, trying to reassure her and calm himself. He wanted to feel her hands on him instead of his own. The mere thought of it caused him little spasms and he chuckled as she grinned at his body’s twitches. 

She trailed her lovely hands slowly, tentatively towards his cock, concentrating so hard he couldn’t help but smile at her. She stopped suddenly and looked up at him, confused. “How? What do I do?”

“Except for pinching or crushing, you may do as you wish.” He stroked her hair as she debated how to proceed. 

With her index finger she gently pressed on it – at the base, along the side, on the top. She jumped and withdrew her hand quickly as he hissed and closed his eyes when her finger lightly traced the tip. 

She was frantic, “I’m so sorry – I didn’t mean to hurt you. Oh Thorin ...” 

He opened his eyes and smirked, “No my Elea, you did not hurt me. The way you touched me sent strikes of pleasure through me. I am sorry that I scared you. Let me prove to you that you didn’t hurt me … I will show you.” He waited until she was no longer anxious and wrapped his hand around himself. “You see, holding it firmly is good.” He slowly stroked himself and she watched intently to see how the skin moved and what his fingers did. “I would greatly enjoy for you to do this –“ he said as he ran his thumb over the tip, spreading the dew from the slit all around his deep purple head. “Here, follow me.” He placed her hand over his own, allowing her to feel as well as see how he touched himself. 

She felt a blossoming confidence as she watched him stroke himself. Eleanora asked, “May I try on my own? I think I should like to do this.”

He lifted her empty hand to his lips and kissed her fingers, “Of course, my body is yours now. Learn it and use it as you will.”

She copied the movements he had showed her, starting at the base and moving upward, changing the pressure and rotating just a bit. She avoided his head and moved down again, smiling at the expression on his face – bliss and frustration all in one look. On her next pass she dragged her own thumb over the top and spread the dew as he had done, pausing at the underside when she discovered that it made him moan in a way which excited her. 

She was fascinated by the way her touch affected him, with certain movements his hips bucked against her hand almost against his will. He looked like he was lost in a beautiful dream which she was helping to create. She was entranced by his deep sounds and the way kept licking and biting his gorgeous bottom lip. 

Her own excitement was growing until he shouted out, “Uh ... oh ... oh no,” and his whole body froze. She could feel his muscles tensing and a new pulsing under her hand. His eyes flew open in horror as warm, thick white fluid shot out of him and plastered itself all over her belly. 

“Oh by the mighty balls of Aul, I am sorry Eleanora.” He hung his head unable face her. 

She was puzzled, having no idea what went wrong. Did she hurt him after all? Then a thought came to her, “Oh … was that your seed?” He nodded. “Does it take long to make more?” She asked curiously. 

He shook his head, “No. Not long.” She hummed appreciatively and sounded pleased enough that he dared look up into her eyes.

Eleanora was deep in thought as she considered what he said and watched as his penis became softer and smaller. She jiggled it back and forth a bit, interested in the changes it was undergoing. Aware that he was staring at her she asked, “Well, do you think we could continue touching each other and maybe kiss while you make more?”

“Yes. That is a fine idea.” He croaked, thankful that she did not say any of the things crass men sometimes complained about when they were drunk.

“It’s not bad is it? It wouldn't make me sick or harm my skin, would it?” She asked, looking at the congealing mess on her belly. Other things which came from bodies were to be disposed of quickly but was seed waste in the same way? She felt that surely it must be different and chewed her bottom lip while she was lost in thought.

He shook his head, relatively sure that his seed would not make her ill whether it was on her insides or outsides. He’d heard men speak of women taking them into their mouths and swallowing all that spewed from them. Until Eleanora asked her question, he had considered the idea repugnant. When she soothed her lip with a lick he couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have her sweet mouth around him, licking him and maybe sucking a little. As he pondered these things she shocked him by dipping her finger into the goo, bringing it to her tongue, and tasting it. 

“Hmm. Salty, a little bitter, reminds me of garlic chives. Even though it’s pretty I don’t think I’d frost biscuits with it.” She said with a twinkle in her eye.

He choked and started laughing. Frosting biscuits? She was no young miss in the first bloom of youth. She was a mature female – beautifully round and gloriously soft. Who knew that under all of those modest clothes and circumspect behaviour she was so audacious? Surely he was the luckiest Dwarf in all four ages of Middle Earth.

They returned their attention to discovering each other with a new confidence. The found places which were ticklish, spots that made them gasp, others which made them moan deep and low, some that liked to be touched gently, and places which felt better with firm pressure or a squeeze. Eleanora was certain that if she spent all day, every day for fifty years she would never grow tired of his body. She felt like she was under a spell, a wish granted by a faerie, light headed and powerful all at once.

Thorin encouraged Eleanora to explore him as much and wherever she wished. When she was curious or tentative, he answered her questions and nudged her to continue. He loved the feeling of her soft, warm hands on him – stroking and petting him, squeezing and kneading. When she found places and ways to make him moan she was like a kitten with a ball of yarn; she played with him until he could barely maintain himself.

He wanted to touch her as she was touching him but every time he did, he became so unsettled he thought he would waste his seed again. She was so perfect, her body round and soft and welcoming, and it was only a matter of time before he lost control again. She felt him tense and retreat each time she moaned at his touch and she mistook his reaction for displeasure.

His heart sank when she quietly told him how sorry she was that she was not beautiful like a Dwarrowdam and that she regretted disappointing him. He pulled her tight against his chest and held her there, trying to squeeze her fears away.

“No no no no no. Oh My Elea, you are the most beautiful in all Middle Earth. You are perfect and I am in awe of you. If I am not touching you as you touch me it is only because I am afraid of spilling myself too quickly again. The feel of your body does such things I cannot explain.” He stroked her hair and bumped his pelvis against her with a naughty smirk. “Can you feel what you do to me?”

She tilted her head back to look at him and returned his naughty smirk, “Oh, is that for me? Well, I think you must have the biggest sword of all the Dwarves.” 

His belly shook with laughter and he squeezed her in a hug before letting her go. “You know, we Dwarves name our swords for the great deeds they do in battle. How would you name my sword?”

Her eyebrows shot up, but she volleyed back, “Well, I haven’t seen it do battle yet. I believe I must witness what great deeds it can do before I name it.” 

“Gauntlet thrown and challenge accepted, M’lady.” He was determined to show off his sword in its best light, making her come undone before he spilled his seed again and to that end he caressed her in all the ways he’d already learned and sought out more. 

She had melted in his arms when he kissed her, moulding her body to his in a way which set him afire too. He found that as much as she liked him to touch her breasts with his hands, she became feverish when it was his mouth which worshipped them. Her expressive desire gave him a wicked idea – he would kiss his way over her, tasting her as he made her body sing. Kissing and nibbling her bountiful breasts, she shouted so loud he was certain she’d woken every creature in the wood. 

He kissed his way down her body, right to the tip of her delightfully chubby toes. She giggled and pulled her feet away, obviously far too ticklish for him to play with them – information he stored away for later use. He travelled kisses up the inside of her leg, smiling when his beard tickled her and when she made those low sounds of pleasure. As he approached the more tender flesh at the top of her thighs she began to squirm about. He looked up at her in concern, unsure if her movements signalled for good or bad.

She looked at him in frustration, “Your beard – it is giving me shivers when it scratches along my skin. GOOD shivers.” She clarified when he continued to stare. “Please don’t stop Thorin – it is very good.”

He paused for a moment when his nose brushed the soft spot between her legs because she had jumped a little and made a peculiar sound. He had been uncertain about proceeding until he heard her pleasure moan which, combined with the heady scent of her, was making him half crazed. He wanted more of her, to feel her and to taste her. He had no knowledge of either Dwarrowdam nor Woman’s most private areas and while it was an odd idea to be kissing her there, it was also wildly arousing and he trusted that she would tell him how she wanted to be touched, just as he had for her.

He gently used his thick fingers to explore her sex. She was astonishingly made – soft folds of delicate skin and a sweet little bean that made her keen with pleasure when he kissed or suckled her there. Dwarvish fingers may have been thicker than other races, but they were also more sensitive which was what gave Dwarves the ability to create such fine, delicate masterpieces. Thorin used that special gift to create fine, intricate sensations on her most intimate flesh.

She became delirious with the touch of his fingers and lips and tongue. She thrust her hips, seeking out more of him, not wanting to loose contact with him for even a moment. There was no danger of that, she tasted like ambrosia – a delicious blend of mead and salty goodness and he intended to feast on her as long as she would allow.

Her hips jerked up off the ground and she knotted her hands in his hair, keeping his face as near to her throbbing body as possible. He grinned at the way he was making her lose control of herself, of the way she was demanding more of him.

“What am I to do Elea? How may I please you?” He looked up, seeking her darkened eyes which were glazed with passion.

“Please put your finger – I want to feel you inside, Thorin. Please, help me.” She panted, in agony with need for him.

He slowly traced around her sensitive flesh, ensuring his finger was well covered by her wetness. He massaged her entrance, slightly dipping his finger in and slowly bringing it out again. She felt so small inside, he worried he might damage her. She showed no pain and he trusted that she would tell him to stop if he pained her. With his thumb resting on her little nub, he moved his finger in and out of her heat, slowly and steadily, increasing the depth gradually until his finger was buried in her as far as possible. She moaned nearly non-stop and her legs were twitchy.

“Keep moving.” She groaned and he did, pleased that she was flying so high by his hand. She was beautiful with her hair splayed around her head like a halo and her face illuminated with passion. Her rising pleasure magnified his own desire and he wanted to make her feel as glorious as she looked. Eleanora was vocal about how much she liked it when he twirled his tongue or finger around her most sensitive flesh and so he did that steadily as he pumped his finger in and out, in and out. 

He was glad his face was not directly between her legs any longer because she huffed and clenched them together so tightly he wondered if she might break his hand – he couldn’t imagine what might have happened to his head had it been there. 

She screamed his name and froze with her back arched up off the ground, her whole body rigid save for a pulsing rhythm he could feel deep inside of her. It didn’t last long and when it subsided she collapsed back onto the ground, gasping for air and completely dazed. 

Had she’d just experienced the same euphoria that he did when he spilled his seed? Was that was possible since she didn’t have seed to spill? Her expression alone was undeniable, but she confirmed it with her words.

Her breathing was returning to normal when she opened her eyes and looked at him for the first time since she screamed his name. “I saw rainbows and stars behind my eyes all at the same time.”

“Is that good to see?” He asked, somewhat concerned that she may have injured her head while flailing about.

She grinned at him and nodded her head vigorously, “It’s very good and I hope to see it often. Will you travel to the stars every day with me Thorin Oakenshield?” 

He returned her grin and assured her he would most certainly be at her service. She snuggled into him and ran her fingers through his chest hair, enjoying the luxurious thickness of the silky mass. She began to kiss him as he kissed her, tasting his beautiful body and giving him delicious sensations with her lips and tongue. 

When she reached his cock she smiled at its jerky movements as it grew to its monstrous size again but she did not hesitate, she gently kissed the tip and smiled as he moaned in his low, sensuous way. He had taught her the pleasure a mouth could bring and she wanted to do for him what he had done for her.

Eleanora explored Thorin’s textures and sensitive ridges with her tongue and her lips, paying close attention to what his body was telling her with each lick and each kiss. She wanted to always remember how he had little spasms when she gently suckled on his head or when she ran her tongue over and over the tender spot underneath. 

His limbs turned to jelly when she took him into her mouth as far as she could and created pressure around him with her cheeks and tongue. He liked that a lot. She had discovered more inspiring sounds when she massaged his balls at the same time she sucked his cock. She was just finding a comfortable rhythm when he pulled her head off him with a strangled cry. 

“Oh Elea, it feels so good. You feel so good … but I am going to spill again if you keep doing that and I don’t want to yet - not that way.” He sounded confounded by frustration and when she looked closer into his face, she saw it was the same kind of frustration she’d been feeling not many minutes before. She smiled, knowing how blissful the release would be when it eventually came.

“Shall we see if you can fit inside of me? That is what we are supposed to do, is it not?” She asked brightly.

He chuckled and agreed, that was how it was supposed to work. He was slightly worried, just as she had been when he was first disrobed. She was so tight around his finger, how in the world could she ever accept his cock?

She understood where his thoughts had gone for hers were on the same path. Unsure if she was reassuring him or herself, she said, “People have doing this for thousands of years … and women have babies which are much, much bigger than that.” She said, pointing to his massive member. “So I think if we’re careful, we can do it too.” 

He considered what ‘careful’ might mean. He looked at his fingers, down at himself and back again. He held his fingers in odd combinations beside his penis and frowned. “I am thicker than 4 fingers. But perhaps if we work up to 4, it won’t be so shocking when I push inside of you.”

She appreciated that he was so considerate and certainly his Dwarven spatial awareness was handy but it all sounded so … boring. Eleanora was growing impatient for his touch and had a better idea. “Just before the rainbows and stars I don’t think I could have felt any pain even if you lopped off my leg. So let’s find pleasure with your fingers while we’re looking for rainbows and then I think everything will work fine.” 

“Very well. Let us do that.” Thorin hugged her closely, once again assured he was the luckiest being in all of Middle Earth.

They began kissing and touching with as much awe as before but with more confidence and purpose. It was easy for Thorin to slip a finger into her warm entrance and her happy noises let him know she enjoyed the feel of him as much as he enjoyed the feel of her. She smiled and nodded when he added a second finger and decided she liked two better than one. She gave a little yelp when he added a third but was eager to continue after she had relaxed for a moment. Between his fingers, his thumb and the feel of his hot, hard cock on the side of her hip she didn’t want to wait for the forth finger, she wanted him sheathed within her as soon as possible and told him so, in no uncertain terms.

He grinned at the wantonness of his One Love and prayed to Mahal that he would be able to be slow and careful enough not to make her regret her demands. When she spoke of her desire for him, it sent lava racing through his veins and he wanted to take her fast and hard … but he was more afraid of hurting her than meeting his own needs so he cooled his ardour enough to ensure her comfort.

Thorin grasped his throbbing cock and gently rubbed it up and down her soft folds, ensuring it was well wet with her sweet juices. He guided his head to her opening, holding it just barely inside her lips waiting to make sure she was ready. She gave him a frustrated look which could very well have told him off and demanded he get on with it. Fair enough.

He eased inside just an inch and stopped when she squeaked “Oh.” He sought her eyes to ensure she was well. She grinned and nodded, reaching up to kiss his lips and tug on his temple braids. Oh Mahal she set him on fire when she did that and it was a miracle that he didn’t lose himself in her immediately.

He slowly moved forward another inch and paused, watching her grimace quickly turn into a smile. Another inch and the grimace took a little longer to disappear. He could feel the hot, wet tightness of her body around him and he thought he might expire from the pleasure of it. He closed his eyes and concentrated so hard he didn’t feel her tugging on his hips, urging him onward. She slapped his arse with a resounding smack and gave him a dirty look for his temporary lack of focus on their mission. 

“Pushy little thing, aren’t you!?” He smirked at her and laughed when she nodded and shimmied her hips from side to side. It was his turn to squeak “Oh.”

Another inch and a half and he thought he had left Middle Earth for the stars. Eleanora nodded, encouraging him to keep on. They continued slowly until there was no more of him outside and no more room inside. They stilled and held each other tightly for a moment so that he could calm his raging needs and so she could adjust to the fullness of him.

Thorin began to slowly move in a slow, easy rhythm. It was delightfully odd to Eleanora, there was some discomfort but nothing off putting and there was pleasure beyond her greatest hopes. The feelings in her body and in her heart threatened to overwhelm her; she was irrevocably in love with Thorin and wanted the joining of their bodies with every ounce of that love.

She hooked her ankles around the back of his knees, linking every available part of herself with him. He lifted up on his elbows so that he could see her sweet eyes and kiss her lovely lips. She smiled at him as he stroked her hair and placed little kisses all over her face, all the while moving slowly and steadily within her.

Eleanora felt that passionate spiral beginning inside of her again. She recognized it for what it was this time: the path to rainbows and stars. She wanted him to move faster – she needed something more to climb rainbows. She met his thrusts with her own, bringing him deeper and harder into her body. She gasped, when he moved in that new way it sent delicious shocks of pleasure throughout her core. 

“More.” She grabbed his hips with her hands, encouraging him to thrust hard, faster. He did, not knowing how much longer he could last because she was pushing him over the edge. But he so badly wanted her to shout his name again that he fought hard to hold himself back. 

She thrashed beneath him, moaning and clutching him with her hands, biting him with her teeth. She lifted her ankles to his hips and held them there, keening when the new angle changed his movement in her. Eleanora's whole body stiffened and she screamed his name, louder than before. She gripped his arms so tightly, she bruised him. Her eyes flew open and she called his name again just before she seized him, kissing him hard, slipping her tongue between his lips and wildly plundering his mouth. She snapped her hips up to meet his and that tipped him over, his own thrusts became erratic and it was only seconds before he spilled into her, feeling her body seek every drop from him, claiming his seed for her own.

Thorin collapsed on her, basking in the incomparable pleasure of his release. As his mind began to clear, he smiled at her, rubbing noses and kissing her gently. 

“My One Love.” He said and kissed her again.

“My One Love.” She brushed his ebony hair back from his noble brow and kissed him.

Thorin pulled her cloak over them and they lay like that, calling each other love names and kissing and caressing until they were chilled by the night air. They reluctantly dressed and slowly walked back to their houses, hand in hand, not wanting to part for even the few hours left in the night.

..ooOOoo..

A couple of people have asked me why Thorin was a virgin here. It wasn't just because it was cute to see two people trying to figure it out. I actually did think about how experienced Thorin might be. There were two things which steered me to virginity.

1\. Dwarven marriages. Only 1/3 of the Dwarven population is female and of those females, not all wish to marry. Once married, it is forever - no take backs, no refunds, no remarriages upon widowhood. Unless you assume that the most Dwarves are gay then it means the majority of Dwarves never have sex at all. At some point, sex does enter the picture. Gloin had several children so something must have kicked in. From all of that I have assumed that sex is not a big thing for Dwarves until/unless they marry. Think along the lines of "you don't miss what you've never had". This may be completely faulty logic and I am NOT well versed in the Tolkien world so I stand to be corrected.

2\. Thorin was a very young Dwarf when Smaug struck - much too young to even be engaged. After that he had to deal with a Grandfather still suffering from gold sickness, the Battle of Azanulbizar, then the death of his Grandfather &; brother, his father going off book, helping his sister with her young sons, and be the heir apparent who bore the burden of his people on his shoulders. I hadn't found anything to suggest even an interest in marrying. Interestingly, Richard Armitage said that if he could ask Tolkien one question it would be if there was a love in Thorin's life, leaving me to infer that if a major Tolkien geek like RA couldn't find evidence of a love life, then in canon there was none.

So that is why in this story Thorin is a virgin but when he is with the love of his life, he's sex on legs.

..ooOOoo..

Next time: Fare well, farewell


	4. Farewells

They stood on her porch hugging and kissing, neither willing to let their evening end.   When pale streaks of sunrise glowed on the horizon, Thorin swatted Eleanora on the bum and said, “I will not be the ruination of your reputation this night, my dear heart.  Get yourself to bed before your Da and the rest of the Dwarves rise and find us here.”

 

She laughed at him as she slowly turned to enter the house.  “That is funny Thorin, I do believe Da and the Dwarves knew about us before we did!  There would be no shock for them to find us together.”   She blew him a kiss and ran inside before he could offer a retort.

 

It was a happy and exhausted Thorin and Eleanora who fell asleep as soon as their heads hit their pillows, not waking until the chime rang for the mid-day meal.

 

For the next four weeks they thought they were the picture of discretion, meeting only after everyone else had gone to sleep.  But what was successful restraint to them was, in reality, an obvious love story being played out before their companions.  The Dwarves found every imaginable excuse to put them alone together, knowing that their stolen kisses would do little to sate them until the night but it gave them great satisfaction to know they were providing small moments of happiness while they waited.  For a race who was not focused on romantic love, the Brander Farm Dwarves were the most sentimental match makers Middle Earth had seen since the Second Age.

 

Sigbrandur's hope that Eleanora and Thorin would bring lightness and joy to each other's lives was realized better than he'd dared to wish.  Eleanora's patience and kindness was not a magic spell which completely transformed Thorin overnight but they were most definitely working in him.   He offered assistance before being asked, his patience grew stronger and twice he made a joke.  When the axle broke on Eleanora's cart Thorin simply nodded and suggested it was time for a new cart anyway, the old one was too inconvenient for her to load and unload on market day.

 

The Dwarves worked together and built a new wagon with ramps and pulleys and storage areas which would serve Eleanora well.  It didn’t escape Sig’s notice that the Thorin who first arrived at Brander Farm would undoubtedly have huffed and passed judgement on one thing or another deemed to be shoddy.  Thorin taught Ain new smithing techniques and met with Sig for long hours to discuss healthy farming for Dwarven constitutions, with the intent of bringing Sig's techniques to Ered Luin.

 

As days went by Thorin and Eleanora became less and less formal with each other, speaking freely about any subject that came up.  Their arguments were lively and loud, shouting at each other's obstinacy, ignorance and poor judgement.  When Eleanora started to stamp her foot, Da and the Dwarves knew to clear out for if they stayed they might be painted with the same brush she was using on Thorin.  There would be more shouts, a door or two would bang and then all would be quiet with no sign of either of the combatants for some time.  When they did emerge, they were usually flushed and smiled a great deal, providing everyone else on the farm with a bevy of knowing grins.

 

Their nights were filled with thunderous passion, quiet conversations and bawdy laughter.  They shared their most powerful memories and their wildest dreams, keenly feeling each other’s grief, joy, fear, confidence and hopes.  They held each other close, marvelling in how perfectly they fit together and came to know each other intimately - physically, intellectually, spiritually and emotionally.  During their nights in the glen beyond the wood neither rebelled against the other's directions, something which would have caused ear splitting quarrels in the daytime.  At night they served each other without question or reservation, in the daytime they challenged every thought, word and deed.  They were stubborn, generous and completely devoted in their affections for one another.

 

A messenger came with a letter for Thorin, bringing with him a pall of heavy dread.   Sig considered not giving the letter to Thorin, leaving him and Eleanora together for as long as they could be.   Sig, and everyone else, knew their time was limited, that eventually Thorin would have to return to the Blue Mountains without Eleanora and that a long, happy future together was improbable at best.   All they had, all they may ever have, was this time and their friends wanted to make it last a while longer.

 

But Sig was an honourable Dwarf.  He could not, would not, lie to Thorin about something as potentially serious as a letter sent by messenger.    As years went by there were hundreds of times he wished he did hold back that letter, just for a few small weeks.  How different everything might have been had Thorin been there when Eleanora broke the news which was to follow shortly.

 

The message was important and contained excellent news.  According to Dwarves passing through Minas Tirith, there had been sightings of Thrain in Anduin and Emyn Arnen.   It was 70 years since Thorin’s father, Thrain, disappeared and Thorin had never given up hope of finding him.   The call to find King Thrain was louder than any other he’d ever experienced and Thorin had new reasons for wanting to find Thrain.   If his father was restored to the throne, it would absolve Thorin of his responsibilities of kingship.   It would give Fili time to grow into his role as Heir, Thorin could renounce his claim to the throne and be free to build a life with Eleanora.   He had to find Thrain, it was their only hope.

  

Eleanora and Thorin spent their last night together in the glen, bringing more blankets and pillows for comfort and to ward off the creeping chill.   They made love under the moon for hours, sharing their bodies and their love for one another.   Each night since their first joining had been more pleasurable than the previous with their final night being the best of all – a profound uniting of bodies and souls, the likes of which could never be replicated by any beings in Middle Earth.

 

The next morning it was with both hopeful anticipation and deep sadness that Thorin kissed Eleanora goodbye.  It mattered not that Sig, Ain, Benrin or Oivindur saw him do it.   He felt an undeniable surety that they would be married soon enough and all the world could know he’d found his One Love.   He bumped heads with his fellow Dwarves and shook Da's hand before one last hug with Eleanora.  She gave him the strong, calm goodbye that he needed, only beginning to sob after he was long out of sight.   Sig helped her back to the house and sat with her on the porch swing while she cried for her One Love.    

From time to time she’d receive short letters from Thorin, telling her tales of his travels, writing songs for her, creating a countdown until they could be together again.   She treasured those letters like they were mithral -  more precious than anything else in Middle Earth except for Thorin himself.  Eleanora worked hard, filling her days to overflowing so that she would collapse at the end of them and fall into a deep sleep devoid of the dreams of missing Thorin.

 

It was nearly two months to the day of his leaving that Eleanora fell apart.   She’d been feeling poorly for some time and she finally determined why:  she was pregnant.   She was going to have Thorin’s baby.  He was gone and she was about to become an unwed mother of a mixed race child.  Every night she prayed for Thorin to come back to her and despaired when he didn’t.  

 

Her usual ability to find the good in every situation had abandoned her so she willed herself to think positively.  She clung to his certainty that all would be well once he found Thrain, and had no doubt he would, restoring his father to the throne.   

 

Her hopes were smashed on the rocks when Sig came to her after returning from a visit with his kin on the other side of Bree.   He had tears in his eyes as he told her that word had come that Thorin had fallen in Gondor; he was in the Halls of Waiting and he would not be returning to Brander Farm.   Sig held her as she cried and rocked her as she keened his name over and over.

 

For six days Eleanora was disconsolate.  She did not rise, did not eat, did not bathe, did not speak.  Everyone was worried she may never recover, so deep was her grief.   It was Ain who spoke to her and gave her reason to live.

 

“I have no need to wed.  Your heart is already wed.  But you have a baby coming and you need a husband or you and the baby will have a lonely, hard life.   Eleanora, I have little to offer but my name and my friendship, but if you wish, I will give both to you and your child.”   He was so solemn, she knew it was no joke no matter how ridiculous it sounded to her ears.

 

She did not speak for three more days but when she realized it was not only her life she was willing away, but also the life of Thorin’s unborn babe, she was galvanized to ensure his child would be born healthy and live a beautiful life, eventually knowing his father was the best of all possible Dwarves.

 

Eleanora and Ain were married in human tradition the following week, under the sad but approving eyes of Da and the Dwarves of Brander Farm.    If ever there was a marriage of convenience, this was the most altruistic and noble.   Ain proved to be an invaluable friend, supporting and encouraging Elea (as he called her) through every stage of discomfort and awkwardness in her pregnancy.   It became obvious that her babe was in fact babeS; she was having twins, the thought of which both terrified and delighted her.   If her child inherited the long life of Dwarves, they would need a sibling to live that long life with and there would never be another pregnancy in her life to provide a sibling friend.  Twins would ensure Thorin's children would always have family.

 

Eleanora’s babies had very difficult births, both mother and children nearly dying as she experienced the excruciating challenges of delivering Dwarven babies through a human body.   They had their father’s spirit – strong, proud, full of life, and they survived.   Little Therin and Evrin were beautiful and their father would have been overjoyed to meet his son and daughter for they were hale and hearty just like their Da.  But they would not know of Thorin as Da - they would not know his role in their lives until they were well grown and established.  It was the gift of a name that Ain had given them, one which Eleanora would honour by never letting him be seen as a substitute or second best in anyone's eyes.  Eleanora made everyone swear to keep the secret of Thorin and her marriage.

 

For two years they lived a happy, peaceful life watching the children grow.  There was some tension and ridicule in Bree but it eventually subsided and they created their own world, welcoming anyone into it who had honour and a gentle heart.   Ain was a wonderful father, patient, kind, firm, silly, adventurous, thoughtful and he could not have been more in love with the children if he'd given birth to them himself.  Therin and Evrin thrived and basked in their parents love, growing into happy, confident, expressive children.  Eleanora's life was filled with laughter, love, companionship and the joy of wiggly youngsters. 

 

Life was not without sadness however. Mr. Brander had passed away after a bad fall, having never recovered from the terrible knock he took to his head.   Jayne’s youngest child died one night while sleeping; it was shockingly sudden and devastated the whole family.  Benrin received word that his uncle and cousin were alive and well in the Iron Hills and so he left Brander Farm to be with his kin.   Eleanora, the children and the Dwarves were saddened by his departure, feeling it as keenly as they did the loss of Da Brander.

 

Word had spread that the settlement in Erid Luin was thriving, attracting more Dwarves than ever before.  It was not uncommon to see a different Dwarven group pass by every week.   It gave Eleanora comfort to know that the community Thorin had worked so hard to build was serving his people well.  For the first year Eleanora stopped every group and asked them for word from Gondor – was it possible that Thorin survived?   When it became clear that no one had any such news and they didn’t really care about more than finding community in any safe Dwarven city, she gave up asking and gave up the last thread of hope she'd kept that he might live on.  

 

And so it was that she was not looking for, and did not see, the lone figure limping down the road towards Brander Farm the following year.   She and Ain were playing with the children in the yard and laughing at them trying to catch the dog’s tail.    She did not see him as Therin and Evrin jumped into their parents' arms, being squished between them in a big group hug.    They did not see him but he saw them.  He was about to call out to Eleanora when he heard the children laughingly shout out Mam and Da to Eleanora and Ain.    The wounds he suffered in Gondor held no comparison to the pain which ripped apart his heart at the sight and sounds before him.    Eleanora had not waited long before taking another to her bed if the size of the children was any indication.   She did not wait even a single year for him.    How could he have been so wrong about her?  He had been betrayed and felt defiled.

 

Thorin slipped away unnoticed, not stopping until he came to The Prancing Pony in Bree.   After three tankards of ale, he wondered if he had been mistaken.  He asked the Innkeeper of the Brander family and was told that Eleanora and Ain had been married for roughly four years.   Two tankards of ale later, two burly patrons hefted Thorin to the alley and left him there in the rain.

 

Some months later word came to Eleanora that Thorin had returned to Ered Luin.  She was simultaneously happy and devastated:  happy he was alive and had not perished in Gondor, devastated because he had not thought to contact her.  Of course, life would be incomparably complicated with her having married, but surely there was some way to cope with that.  Surely he could write to her, would he not?  But he did not contact her nor any of the Brander Dwarves and each letter she sent to him was returned unopened.   For months she mourned the living loss of him, but she had responsibilities and priorities beyond her own pain and set her mind to appreciate the blessings she did have.  To all who met her she was a strong, healthy, happy woman with a picture perfect life and for the most part, she was.  

 

~ ^ ~

 

It was over twenty years before Thorin returned to the area, and not because he had a desire to do so.  He had an appointment with Gandalf the Grey Wizard at the Prancing Pony in Bree.   There had been some rumours of his father who had been gone for nearly 100 years.   Gandalf made it very clear that the future of the Line of Durin rested on retrieving the Arkenstone from the genocidal drake, Smaug, who slept in Erebor, the Lonely Mountain.   Gandalf called for an expedition to rid Erebor of Smaug, find the Arkenstone and for Thorin to reclaim his birthright.   The time was nigh and would not come again.

 

Thorin was not tempted to travel to Brander Farm.  He wanted to be far away from the region as soon as possible feeling the dread of accidentally meeting one of its inhabitants at any moment.   He had no desire to ever lay eyes on them again and so he left Gandalf as quickly as he could manage, agreeing to meet in The Shire once he assembled an expedition force.

 

It was less than a year later that he was on his way to The Shire to pick up a burglar from Hobbiton.  Gandalf had decreed that the burglar was critical for their mission and other than not wanting to be in the vicinity of Bree, he was loathe to disagree.

 

Thorin had not received support from any kin or friend of the Line of Durin save for twelve Dwarves.  It was a foolish company, undertaking a foolish mission, led by the biggest fool of all.   But he would see it done; not for himself but for his nephews, his heirs.  His heart clenched in his chest as they passed close to the Brander farm on their way to the Great East Road.   He felt the pain of Eleanora’s betrayal as fresh as the day he discovered it.

 

~ ^ ~

 

The journey to defeat Smaug and take back Erebor was mostly a success.  Certainly Smaug was dead and the Company of Thorin Oakenshield had established residence in the Lonely Mountain.  However, all had not gone according to plan.  The burglar had betrayed him, giving the Arkenstone to the Men of Esgaroth.   Men and Elves demanded a share of the treasure of the mountain and put the The Company under siege when Thorin refused their demands.

While Dwarves, Men and Elves faced a standoff, Sauron had mobilized Orcs and Goblins to defeat all those who stood at the foot of The Lonely Mountain.   Word was sent to Dain in the Iron Hills to come to the aid of the Dwarves of Erebor but it was uncertain whether Dain would side with his kin or the other races, giving him significant chances of securing the treasure of the Lonely Mountain for himself.

 

Thorin had grasped the import of the approaching vile armies of Orcs and Goblins, ending his stubborn refusal to meet with the envoys of Men and Elves.  He joined with them in the battle against evil and rallied the allies to defeat the vile enemy.   He had no thought for himself, just for crushing the abominations who defiled his grandfather, who crushed his kin too many times and who threatened to do the same to all good people of Middle Earth.

 

As had happened before in Thorin’s life, there had been victory but at high cost.   His precious nephews, Fili and Kili, had perished in the battle, giving their lives to protect him.   He himself suffered mortal wounds and the Burglar, who turned out to be the most important member of their company had disappeared, presumed dead.  

 

Thorin lay in wretched pain, slowly dying of his wounds.   He was barely conscious and suffered only short moments of lucidity.   It was during one of those rare times that he recognized the healer attempting to care for him.   It was Benrin of Brander Farm.   When Ben saw that Thorin recognized him he explained how he came to Erebor with Dain, having relocated to the Iron Hills many years before.   

 

His pride no longer of consequence, Thorin asked him, “And what of Eleanora Brander?  Are she and Ain still living?”

 

Benrin saw the depth of pain in Thorin’s eyes, pain which had nothing to do with his bodily wounds.   They had kept the secret of Eleanora and Ain’s marriage so well, he was certain Thorin never knew the truth of it.   “From last I heard, which was not 6 months ago, they are hale.”   He watched Thorin’s face twist in agony and felt the pull of conscience to set things to rights for Thorin’s last hours.

 

“I have always held Ain in high regard.  He is an exemplary Dwarf.”  Benrin paused, feeling deep sorrow at Thorin’s grimace.  “Will you not ask me why?”

 

Thorin grunted, not caring to hear anyone sing the praises of the Dwarf who stole his fickle One Love’s heart.

 

“Well, I shall tell you no matter if you ask or not.   After Eleanora found she was pregnant and we heard you were killed in Gondor, Ain offered to give her, and your children, his name so that they would not know disgrace.   He has lived with them as friend for all these many years.   Eleanora remains faithful to you even now and your children have been well raised.   She was deeply hurt by your refusal to see her once you returned to The Blue Mountains but she never, not for a moment, forgot you or her promise to you.  She loves you yet, Thorin Oakenshield, and you can take that love with you to the Halls of Mahal, knowing that you have been honoured and that your children will live on after you.”

 

Benrin saw the tears flow freely from the eyes of the bravest warrior he had ever known.   A peace settled on Thorin, the tremendous weight of a betrayal that never happened lifted from his heart.   So much became clear to him in those minutes – the presumption of betrayal was a disease which ate him from the inside out and destroyed the one thing he said mattered most, his love for Eleanora.   It took no effort to recognize that his tunnel vision had similarly destroyed the friendship of a gentle burglar who mattered greatly to him and to the quest for Erebor.  

 

It was some few hours later that Bilbo Baggins, the Company Burlgar, was brought in by Gandolf the Grey, and went to the side of his dying friend, Thorin Oakenshield.   With his last breaths, Thorin spoke his heart to Bilbo.  

 

“Farewell, good thief,” he said, “I go now to the Halls of Waiting to sit beside my fathers, until the world is renewed.  Since I leave now all gold and silver, and go where it is of little worth, I wish to part in friendship from you, and I would take back my words and deeds at the Gate.   There is more in you of good than you know, child of the kindly West.  Some courage and some wisdom, blended in measure.  I would ask of you one indulgence, on your return to the Shire please give my eternal regards to the folk of the Brander Farm outside of Bree and perhaps share with them some small token from Erebor.  Bilbo, if more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.  But sad or merry, I must leave it now.  Farewell.”

 

With that, Thorin’s suffering ended as he passed to the Halls of Waiting, secure in the knowledge that love was forever.  He would be with his Eleanora and meet his children when the world was renewed.


End file.
